Sputterpub's Blog

“Is there depression in your family?”
she asked me after marrying my son
and giving birth to their first progeny.
I indicated no. “Most everyone
is willful, prone to anger. We’re complex
but rarely down, and seldom sad for long.”
“But what about – ?” she signified my ex,
and I was thunderstruck to get how wrong
I’d been, the way I read three dozen years
ago. I then resented how my spouse
complained of minor ailments, swallowed tears
of sentiment, and hung around the house.
I thought him wussy, and I never guessed
the obvious; the man was sore depressed.

Another grandmother would visit less,
contribute money more than presence now.
Acknowledging catastrophe, I guess
it’s true another’d try a different how.
But I can’t stay at home while they contend
with hospitals and stroke dimension’s pace
and space, with daily micro-measured mend;
I have to bring my wallet, hands, and face.

It isn’t sacrifice. It will not last.
I view it as a vagabonding year.
The patient will recover. I’ll get past
construction’s hard disruption. Air will clear
and I’ll return to nights of comfort, ease
by day, and seek out new activities.